Ouroboros
by pot kettle black
Summary: The story of Tom Riddle Jr.'s parents. Everybody's trapped somehow...


**Disclaimer: **1. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not making money off of this work of fiction. 2. The quote under the title is Shakespeare.

**Notes: **Somehow I thought it would be a good idea to write a fic about Tom's parents that will, eventually segue into a fic about Tom. An HGxTR mighhhhht pop up in the third act, but that's still up in the air.

This part will only be, at most, fourteen chapters. Probably thirteen so I won't have to split up the couplet. And, for those who have read, studied, and composed essays on the sonnet (146), before you get angry at me for wrongful quotation let me first state that it was something of an ironic choice. You might have to bend your brain my way to get the joke and I'll admit it's not a very good one, but I like it all the same.

**Ouroboros**

_Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,_

"Papa takes his tea black. Morfin takes two and a half sugars with a dash of cream. Prepared in the morning, seven a.m. sharp before the cleaning. Irish Breakfast for Papa, Earl Grey for Morfin, Twinings only, steeped for exactly two minutes and fifteen seconds. If a speck of sugar touches Papa's tea, Papa will know and Papa will be angry. If you throw out the ruined tea, Papa will know you have wasted and Papa will be angry. Money does not grow on trees or fall out of the sky, Merope, are you going to pull some bleeding galleons or pounds out of that sad little dress of yours? Can't do magic. Can't do anything. Morfin will laugh.

Papa takes his tea black. Not a speck of sugar, not a drop of cream. You serve it to him just after he knocks his shoes against the ground and grumbles about dirt on the floor. This is fine, this is safe, because Papa does not care about the dirt on the floor. If you clean the dirt on the floor, Papa will be angry, because he can no longer grumble about it. Morfin comes barreling out of his room just after Papa knocks his shoes. You serve Morfin his tea, then start breakfast. Papa and Morfin always eat meat. Merope, women do not need to eat meat, because we are not as red blooded as men. A slice of bacon each at least or Papa and Morfin will be angry. They will grumble over only one slice of bacon, but they will eat it. They will eat old potatoes. They will eat thin soups, so long as you remember to serve them a slice of meat at all meals.

When you clean, Merope, take care not to clean too much. Papa doesn't like it when the house is too clean, but the snakes don't like it when the house is too dirty. Take care not to dust. Papa likes sweeping his finger across the windowsill and grumbling about the dust. If you clean the dust, Papa will be cross at you for dusting. He will say you've probably sullied all of our food and he will throw it out and then he will say you have wasted. Papa hates when we waste, Merope, because we are women and we cannot work or make money and you are a squib and will never be proper. No one will ever want to marry you because of your bad eyes, and so you cannot make Papa angry.

If Papa says you are useless and stupid and ugly, it is because you are useless and stupid and ugly. You must take care to improve or else Papa will never love you. You must remember that Papa takes his tea black and Morfin takes two and a half sugars with a dash-- just a dash of cream. You must start the tea at seven a.m. sharp, then clean, but not too well so that Papa has his mess and the snakes will not complain too much. If the snakes complain too much Papa and Morfin will be angry. You must remember that Papa takes Irish Breakfast tea and that it _must_ be Twinings and Morfin takes Earl Grey tea and it must be the same brand. Steep for... exactly... two minutes and... fifteen seconds..."

Merope tried to remember as best she could, but already the instructions seemed to be slipping away from her. Her mother coughed so hard the ratty old bed she was laid on shook and Merope worried it would break. If it did break, Merope knew that Papa would be livid and he was already going to be angry because Mum had collapsed in the kitchen and dinner wasn't ready. Merope had no idea how to cook her mother's soups. So she'd asked, and Mum told her.

Then the coughing started. The desperate fisheyed coughing and Mum couldn't breathe, seemed to be choking, and they were both very worried. Papa would be angry if Mum was sick and couldn't cook and keep the snakes happy. Papa would be angry if Mum had to see a doctor, because doctors were expensive. Papa would be angry if someone didn't do Mum's job straight off and that someone had to be Merope, because she was the only lazy good-for-nothing that had nothing else to do with her bloody time. Papa and Morfin _worked_ and all they asked for was a hot meal at the end of a bloody long day.

"Mum," Merope said, once the coughing subsided. "The soup... for dinner it was... I'm supposed to fill half the pot with water and cut a chicken in half or... a piece of chicken?"

Mum sighed and shook her head. She kept a thin hand over her lungs, pressing carefully, and said in a strained voice, "I told you _not five minutes ago, _Merry, have you forgotten already?"

Merope scratched her head absently, dull hair sticking to her fingers. "No chicken for the soup?" she guessed, "The chicken is for breakfast and a slice of bacon in the soup?" The girl's eyebrows furrowed as her mother tilted her head, letting it weigh itself down leftward, then rightward.

"Merry," Mum said. "We never eat chicken. Papa hates chicken and you should never even _mention_ chickens around Papa. He absolutely can't abide them, didn't I tell you?"

Merope nodded slowly and tried to concentrate. "I forgot," she said, scratching her head more aggressively now. "I'm stupid, Papa always says so."

"A single chunk of beef, one inch by one inch," Mum held up bony fingers to demonstrate the proper size. "Cut it in half and put it in the pot, which you fill halfway with water. Then the greens--"

"We've got greens?" Merope interrupted. Her brow was creased in three places from the effort she put into remembering. She never got meat in the soup, but she had soup and stringy stuff...

"You call them browns, Merry," her mother heaved a sigh that rattled her entire body. "Your brain's like Swiss cheese, isn't it? Papa hates that."

Merope frowned and tugged at her hair. "I try, Mummy," she said, twisting fingers. "I want Papa to love me."

"Papa didn't want a daughter," Mum lectured. "It was my fault, of course, that you're here and you can't help it." She gave her daughter a thin smile.

Merope beamed back with everything she had. "I try, Mummy, I do!"

"Go start the soup," Mum pointed out the door. "It's getting late and Papa will be cross if dinner isn't ready when he gets home."

Merope nodded vigorously and hitched up her ragged skirt. Bare feet slapped against the dirty wood floor as she rushed her way to their tiny kitchen. Years of practice had taught her how to avoid stepping on the snakes as they slithered around the house lazily and she managed to make the short distance without so much as grazing a scale.

Moving with a gangly sort of grace, she pulled their beaten tin pot out of the cupboard and filled it halfway with water before setting it on the stove. She fussed around, looking for the greens and the meat, before realizing they were in Papa's special cold cupboard. They were individually sealed in two separate bags and she stood on tiptoes, reaching out lanky arms to pull them both down at once.

The greens she set on the counter for the near future, because Mum said that you put the meat in first. Small hands pulled the meat bag open easily and Merope held her breath so she wouldn't have to smell it. Already in cubes, the meat was an angry pink color that reminded her of cuts when she peeled her scabs off too soon. Behind her, the water was already boiling so she whirled round on her heel, left hand dipped into the meat bag--

_How many cubes was it?_

She froze when she realized she couldn't remember. Her swiss cheese brain had done it again and she bit her lip to stop herself from worrying too much. Either one or two. She knew it was either one or two, but the number wouldn't surface. Gnawing her lip now to stop herself from doing something stupid and Merope like, like crying, she set the bag back on the counter near the greens bag and dashed back to the room she shared with her mother.

"Mum?" she called, pausing at the doorway. "Was it one or two cubes of meat?"

No answer.

Merope tiptoed through the doorway, goosebumps chasing each other up her arms. She couldn't quite figure out why, but it seemd that the air in the room had changed somehow. Very drastically and in a very short while. "Mum?" she called again, leaning over the bed. "Mum was it one or two cubes of meat?"

Still no answer.

Biting her lip, Merope tapped her mother's arm-- _"Mum, how many_?"-- fingertips felt skin cold as the meat from Papa's cold cupboard. Merope drew back, brows furrowing. She looked at the bag of meat, quickly gathering condensation in her left hand and then back at her mother, still silent.

"Mum," she said, pushing at her mother's arm lightly. "Mum, how many cubes?"

ooo

When Papa stomped through the door, shaking his boots free of dirt, Merope was at the stove stirring the pot. He grunted at her and swabbed at his nose with his forefinger, before shrugging her presence off and lumbering toward the table.

Morfin stepped in a few seconds later as Merope was carefully making her way toward the table with a bowl full of soup, stuffed to the brim with chunks of pale meat. "Where's Mum?" Morfin growled, pulling out the chair to the right of his father.

Merope looked stunned. Her eyes widened and for a few seconds she was lost. Utterly. She set the soup down in front of Papa distractedly and some of the broth splashed on to the cracked wood in front of him.

Papa was livid. He slammed the table causing more soup to spill out. "What was that, you wortheless sack of skin? Do you think soup is free here?" Papa glanced into the bowl then. "And what's all this meat? Do you think we're rich? Think we're high and mighty like the Riddles up on that hill? Think we can afford to eat this much beef in a meal!"

Merope's eyes were impossibly large now. So wide that the weedy color of her irises seemed almost about to pool out of them. "Papa takes his tea black," she recited. "Morfin takes his with... with... two and a half..."

"Bloody useless," Marvolo Gaunt muttered under his breath. He stomped to his feet.

Merope stood frozen near the table. "Papa... takes his tea black," she repeated, holding on to the words as though they were some sort of protective charm against his anger. "Morfin takes his with..."

"I don't bloody care what Morfin takes his tea with!" Marvolo thundered. He grabbed Merope roughly by the arm. "You wretched Squib!" He shoved her. Hard and she crashed into one of the chairs. It snapped under her weight and Marvolo, breathing heavy as a bull in the ring rounded on her. "Who's going to pay for that, huh?" he shouted.

"Papa takes his tea black," Merope said in a voice much more high pitched than before. "Morfin takes his with two and a half--"

"For Merlin's sake would you _stop_ saying that?" Morfin mumbled through a mouthful of soup.

"--sugars and a dash of cream."

Marvolo grabbed her by the collar and pulled her up unceremoniously. "You're a terrible worthless child," he said. "Where's your mother?"

Merope froze up again. She looked like nothing more than a mouse cornered by a very large, very angry animal. Her ratty hair had worked itself up in a whirlwind of distress and tangled every which way and across her face.

"I won't ask you again," Marvolo threatened, pointing aggressively at Merope's face. "Where. Is. Your. Mother?"

"She's probably just in the room," Morfin said casually.

Marvolo angled his head so that his son was in view. "I wasn't asking you, Morfin." Then he looked rather pointedly at Merope.

"M-mum's in the room," she squeaked, finally. Her face had gone pale and taken on a greenish tint.

Marvolo sneered at her as he let her go and pushed her away--though not as hard as he had before. "That lazy wretch," he muttered stalking off toward their room. "Always bloody lying around..."

Merope sank down into the broken chair, shivering violently.

"Clean that up," Morfin ordered, nudging her with his boot. "Messes don't clean themselves up, you stupid."

Numbly, Merope began gathering the splintered wood around her. She'd only just picked up the first piece when Marvolo stalked back in shaking his head in amazement.

"You bloody stupid girl," he spat. "Your mother's dead. Don't you know when a person's dead?"

Merope didn't know. She had no idea-- she'd never seen a dead person before, and of course it was absurd. Mother couldn't die. If mother died than who would take care of Papa and Morfin and Merope? Biting her lip, she continued to gather wood.

"Mum's dead?" Morfin asked, "Really?" He got up himself to check without waiting for an answer.

Marvolo watched his daughter gather the wood and couldn't seem to stop shaking his head at the sight. She moved mechanically. Like an idiot.

"Well, Merlin's Beard," Morfin said, when he reentered. "She is dead." He looked down at Merope and picked his nose thoughtfully. "Why didn't you tell us she was dead 'soon as we got home?" he asked.

Merope didn't answer. She was busy sweeping up the smaller pieces with the hem of her dress.

"Hey," Morfin elbowed his father. "Do you think maybe she's the one that did it?"

Marvolo turned away from her. "She hasn't got the brains," he said simply. "We have to go and get someone to take care of the body," he announced. "Merope you stay here-- make sure no one comes in."

Merope nodded dully. Morfin and Marvolo stomped out the door, kicking snakes as they went. One of them slithered up to Merope and tried to bite her, so she stood up quickly and moved.

Still holding the pieces of broken chair, she stared around the house, her bad eye goggling slightly.

Her eyes fell on the table, now with only three seats around it, and something about it made her stomach drop as though someone had stuffed it full of lead.

It was only then, alone and worried, that Merope let herself cry.

ooo

When Papa and Morfin came back an hour later, Merope had already tossed the broken wood into the rubbish and composed herself a little. Her eyes were still shot through with red and she couldn't help snuffling a bit, but for the most part she thought she looked presentable. Her hair was out of her face, her dress had been smoothed, and, though full of anxiety, she thought she could handle the Outsider they were bringing into the house.

Voices from outside sent a chill up her spine. She straightened, and clasped her hands together, trying not to be too afraid.

"...still don't understand why we couldn't just Apparate."

"This town's infested with muggles," that was Papa's voice, gruff, aggressive. "Can't do a bloody thing around here without the Ministry getting a sniff."

"That's a shame," the man said. Merope thought he had a sort of pinched, delicate voice-- like a very small someone speaking through a very thin nose.

When Papa slammed the door open, Merope jumped, and Papa glared. "You haven't moved anything around?"

Merope shook her head, a vigorous "No." She was looking straight at the stranger-- the first new person she'd seen in years and he looked just the way she'd thought he would, all pinched up and small.

Morfin laughed as he stomped into the house. "She's probably moved everything around," he said. "Like the poison she used to kill Mum. Where'd you put it, Merry?"

Merope paled. She didn't know why Morfin did things like this, she didn't think mother knew or Morfin knew either. Maybe Papa knew, because Papa was almost just the same. Internally, Merope sighed. Papa had always been the smartest.

"Is this your daughter," the man asked.

"Don't mind her," Morfin grunted. "She's a squib 'n she hasn't got half a brain to work with, isn't that right, Merope?"

Merope nodded, pressing herself even tighter against the cupboards she'd been standing against.

"Also, she might be a murderess," Morfin grinned.

Merope shook her head weakly as they passed through the room. From her parents' room she could hear her father saying, "Hasn't got the brains, Morfin. Hasn't got the brains."

ooo

Because they couldn't levitate the body out, Marvolo Gaunt threw it over his shoulder and carried it to the hearse. Merope covered her eyes when they passed. She didn't see them throw the body in the car. Didn't hear Morfin say, "Hey does she really need clothes where she's going, because I'm sure we can sell that dress for something."

Didn't move at all until she heard the front door close again, and Papa saying,

"Well, you daft little squib, it looks like things are going to have to change."


End file.
